


Miss You Tonight, With You Tomorrow

by Lliyk



Series: Frostburn [5]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anticipation, Begging, Dirty Talk, Dominance, F/M, I Was Not Thinking, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied Relationships, Inspired by Music, Jealousy, Light Bondage, Mirror Sex, Mutual Pining, Non-bending AU, Office AU, Ok I lied, Oral Sex, POV Zuko (Avatar), Porn With Plot, Possessive Behavior, Some Plot, Spanking, Vaginal Sex, What Was I Thinking?, Why Did I Write This?, mild choking, prompted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:33:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28176954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lliyk/pseuds/Lliyk
Summary: Agni, Agni, Agni, what is he going to do with her?In a single swift movement Zuko stands. Katara gives a startled yelp as he presses her roughly into the edge of his desk with his hips, but the sound quickly tapers into a tiny mewl when he melds himself to her.“Turn around,”he demands huskily.Katara twists obediently against him, and he feels the lash of possessiveness burn hotter down his back when her wide ocean eyes meet his. Such a good girl. Very good, and all his.
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Frostburn [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2007067
Comments: 16
Kudos: 100





	Miss You Tonight, With You Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [supergirrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/supergirrl/gifts).



> hi. i cum bearing gifts \o/ *:･ﾟ✧ 
> 
> for [anon](https://slpytea.tumblr.com/post/638030104712331264/), who requested _jealousy_ and _possessive sex_ in the [Lyk Dis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26163724) verse. i hit shuffle on the smut playlist and [Cool Side Of The Pillow by Kyle Dion](https://open.spotify.com/album/03M84CyX5c1KFygf2lXQod?si=CEs8DUZOShOC1JOhKwtuhQ) is what we got. it’s an easy song to have on in the background, so: for your reading pleasure, i highly recommend listening on repeat.
> 
> if you’re wondering about the copious amounts of sudden plot, it’s really just an excuse for me to write about a dress that doesn’t exist and to put our girl in [these shoes](https://ibb.co/bWvTmTQ). can y’all tell that i have A Kink? lmfao.
> 
> beware the typos! comments are fuel ♡.

* * *

There is a new guy in legal. His name is Jet Vimaan, and Zuko only knows it because his uncle has introduced him as the man that will be joining on Zuko’s team for the final leg of their current museum project. Vimaan is decent at his job and easy enough to talk to despite his jocose manner. He’s there to work, and Zuko thinks nothing more of him. 

Zuko thinks nothing more of him, but then he steps out of his office to take Katara to lunch and sees the man casually holding her up in her doorway from clear across the cubicle floor.

To be fair — to be reasonable — the Head of Communications is directly in charge of providing the network for the gallery artists _and_ the museum staff oversight, both of which do, in fact, maintain their own individual aspects of legality. 

Zuko feels his blood run hot as he remains rooted in front of his door, eyes trained on what he can see of Katara. 

He hasn’t a reasonable fucking bone in his body when it comes to her. 

Vimaan looks far too cozy standing where he’s standing, and Zuko sure as fuck doesn’t like the cocksure grin he’s sporting right now.

“You alright, Rokura?”

Zuko drags his gaze to the woman — _Song, procurement lead,_ his brain supplies after a beat — who has paused in her stride to ask after him. “Fine,” Zuko says shortly. Song raises an eyebrow but Zuko offers her nothing more than an appreciative nod, and thankfully is left alone. He turns his eyes back to Katara, who is now headed his way.

“Shall we?” She asks once she stands at his side. “I’m starving.”

Vimaan is no longer anywhere to be seen but a wash of hot, protective fire still flushes through his throat to settle into his chest when he looks down at her; when he catches smiling blue eyes trained on him and the slightest tilt of affection pulling at glossy red lips. 

“I can fix that,” he rumbles in answer. He slips his hand into hers, and his pulse fluxes in satisfaction when her fingers instantly lace through his. Good. “Let’s go.”

If his uncle notices that he piles a load of work on to Vimaan’s dossier to keep him off their floor, he says nothing of it. If Katara notices how he hovers closer to her during the final days of prep for the gallery opening, she says nothing of it, either.

“I’m still figuring out what to wear,” she pouts the day before. “I have to meet with our broker before doors open and I won’t want to change.”

Zuko absently thumbs the swell of her inner thigh from where he has his hand resting up her emerald skirt, his nose buried in the curls at her nape; in her despondence she has allowed herself into his lap, and he revels in holding her close behind the safety of his shuttered glass walls. It’s the near end of the day; a _Friday_ ; but he will be missing her until viewing starts at seven the next evening.

“You will be beautiful in anything,” he tells her, meaning it. He places a kiss at the slope of her neck. “anything, or nothing.”

“Thank you.” Katara smiles coyly at him from over her shoulder. “Will you let me leave, now? I have a last minute meeting with legal in ten.”

Last minute? With _legal?_ Legal is never _last minute_ with _anything_.

Zuko bares his teeth against her skin, angry heat suddenly roiling through him like oil into a vat of water.

 _Vimaan_.

In a single swift movement Zuko stands. Katara gives a startled yelp as he presses her roughly into the edge of his desk with his hips, but the sound quickly tapers into a tiny mewl when he melds himself to her. His blood sings with vitriol at the noise, and he pointedly places his hands over where she has splayed hers on his desk in order to catch herself. Zuko drops his mouth to the shell of her ear.

“ _Turn around_ ,” he demands huskily. 

Katara twists obediently against him, and he feels the lash of possessiveness burn hotter down his back when her wide ocean eyes meet his. Such a good girl. Very good, and all his.

Zuko reaches around and palms a handful of ass in the same second he reaches under Katara’s dress and presses two fingers over her sex. She gasps and it fuels him, and he leans down to nip at her throat as he slowly drags his fingers up the length of her lace covered core.

 _“Oh_. _”_ Katara fists her hands in the shoulders of his blazer as she chokes out his name. “Zu— _hm_.”

Zuko growls into the spot of flesh that he is working red, enjoyed with her abrupt turn towards incoherency. He keeps the pressure of his fingertips steady, a distraction. She will berate him for the attack later, he knows, but she’ll flip once she realizes that he’s put a hickey on her skin for all to see. Zuko curls his fingers, this time stopping to press gently over her clit.

“ _Zuko_.” Katara’s hips rock forward. “ _Please_.”

A mangled groan sounds out of him, an unadulterated echo of the striking white-hot waves of raw desire that painfully harden his cock. Zuko raises his head to capture Katara’s mouth in a searing kiss.

“Go,” he rasps at her, dropping his hands but refusing to retreat. “ _go_ , before I change my mind.”

Katara squeezes out from between him and his desk, lips kiss-swollen and pulling at her skirt. Her continued obedience makes him both wanting and upset. He will not see her until tomorrow.

“Red.” He says, stopping her at the door. She looks at him over her shoulder, and possessive pride swells in him at the spot of wet, bruising skin on display. “Wear anything red.”

Katara looks at him from under her lashes. “Yes, sir.”

Zuko clenches his jaw and waits until the click of his door reaches his ears. In a flash he falls into his desk chair, slacks shoved away and cock in hand. Zuko tugs at himself with tight, desperate strokes, and he spills long and hard over the edge of his desk in mere moments, air punched from his lungs and the word _mine_ pouring from his mouth.

Agni, give him strength.

The museum district is flooded with activity next evening. Zuko pays the crowded sidewalks and traffic packed main streets no mind. He pulls into the underground garage of the Fine Arts Museum an hour after viewings have started and snags one of their reserved parking spots as close to the elevator doors as he can get. As proud as he is of the work he put into tonight’s collection, he knows that tonight he is here for one priceless treasure and one priceless treasure only, and he’s going to want to leave with it as soon as possible.

He spends all of fifteen minutes shaking hands and making small talk once he hits the familiar, crowded mausoleum floor, and only another ten to accept any bids on their most prized — he trusts that procurement will forward the rest. Zuko fiddles absently with the cufflinks of his double breasted maroon suit as he passes through the western branch of the showrooms, his gaze scanning over the crowd with near predatory intent.

“Rokura!” 

Zuko pauses at the call of his name. He blinks, not having recognized Song in her sparkly jade dress with her hair set free. 

Well, speaking of.

“Song.” Zuko greets her plainly and continues his sweep of the room. “Thank you for your work on the project. Have you seen Kyason?”

“Oh, I — oh. This way, I think.”

Zuko lets himself be led toward the eastern wing of the museum, keeping up with Song’s idle chatter about the ruby primate statues that his uncle insisted be featured. They are just about to turn down an aisle of Beifong statues when Katara’s bright, open laughter reaches his ears from the opposite direction.

Zuko’s heart thumps heavily in his chest, his body warming in anticipation as he promptly turns on his heel. He is vaguely aware of Song following behind him but thinks nothing more of her when he’s sure that he spots a head of side swept mahogany waves down the walk. The sound of more laughter reaches him, and Zuko makes his way through the maze of display cases housing his hand-picked Master Aang works with swift steps.

“—appreciate it, thank you,” he can hear her saying, and a moment later he spots her, the noise around him falling away as he sees the red swirls of her _Painted Lady_ tattoo on clear display from the daring swoop of her long sleeved, backless black gown. A frown tugs at his mouth for the briefest of seconds — _no red_ , he thinks as he eyes the lightly training velvet fabric — but then she shifts, and through the scandalously high slit of her skirt he can see creamy umber skin of one long leg, encased in bright red fishnet and tucked into even brighter red boots, just short of knee high and as glossy as her gorgeous smiling mouth. 

“ _Katara_.” 

Her name falls out of him in a jagged rumble, and a haze of dire need clouds his senses when she spins to face him. Her velvet gown is not only backless and slit, but comes with a plunging neckline that stops shy of her navel. Zuko feels his mouth go dry as he makes to step forward, to snatch her up and make away with her and _have_ his way with her, but before he can move an inch three things happen at once: a hand lands on his shoulder, blue eyes narrow at him, and Jet fucking Vimaan waltzes directly into his line of vision.

“Champagne, as requested.” Vimaan says, breezing by.

Katara’s gaze flicks away from him. She smiles, pretty and perfectly polite as she accepts the drink. “Thank you, Jet.”

The noise of the gallery abruptly bleeds back in. 

_What the fuck?_

“I was going to ask why you practically _ran_ , but judging by the looks on both of your faces I think I have an idea.”

Zuko registers the hand still resting on his shoulder and reluctantly jerks his gaze away from the incomprehensible sight in front of him. 

“I thought you two were just a rumor. You’re both so professional _all_ the time.” Song laughs and drops her hand. “Maybe I shouldn’t have used you as a rest. The glare she gave me could freeze a person’s blood.”

Zuko blinks at her. _“What?” The fuck?_

Song looks at him for a long second. “Idiots in love,” she mutters after a beat, then, after tossing her hair and wetting her lips: “you’re welcome.”

Zuko watches with a limbo of simmering belligerence and keen disbelief as Song marches up to Vimaan and smoothly links her arm through his. “Vimaan!” She says, winking back at him and leading the startled man away, though not before another one of his cocksure grins is aimed over his shoulder. “I didn’t think you’d be here. You just made the team...”

The ambiance of the mausoleum hangs a heavy beat in their absence, the _ooh_ s, the _aah_ s, and the unpredictable cadence of conversation bouncing from the high ceilings of the chancel holding the weight of the breath that Zuko is keeping in his lungs. Katara remains where she is without a word or a glance, one hand on her hip and the other tilting the rim of her champagne glass to her mouth. 

Her hair shines gossamer, silky and haloed in the cast of the warm museum lights, skin touched golden. She is a vision, and he is entirely fucking smitten, but this does not dismiss the belligerence that heats him so. Zuko steps to her side.

“When did _Vimaan_ become _Jet?”_ He asks, quiet and braced.

“He didn’t,” Katara says. She studies the work of Master Aang before her with too eager an eye. “I’ve known him for a long time.”

Zuko exhales through his nose. “I see.”

“Do you?”

Katara turns to him, brow quirked, her gaze sweeping up his frame with the same infuriating coolness she offers him from the other side of a conference room disagreement. Her lashes are coated dark and there is a sweep of deep burgundy across her lids. She is so, so beautiful. 

Zuko so, _so_ wants her.

“Yes.” He answers. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“I could say the same.”

“Song isn’t my ex.” Zuko says tersely. _Or eye-fucking me every chance she gets,_ is what he doesn’t say.

Katara turns back to the display case. “Okay.”

The heat in him shifts, a growl building in his chest at her pointed lack of flippancy — at her easy lack of denial. Need, possessive and domineering, swells quickly within him. He takes another step closer, crowding her space and staying her hand with the tip of a finger when she raises it to take a sip from her glass. 

“How long have you been walking around in those shoes?”

Katara cuts her gaze at him. “An hour.”

“Long enough.” Zuko circles her wrist in his hand. “Let’s go.”

She does not resist when he tugs her along. His blood sings despite his immediate crave to dole out his reprisal.

 _Good girl,_ he tells her in the car.

Zuko takes her home and bends her over fast on the nearest stable surface — she is whiny and impatient and wonderfuly fucking wet from the orgasm that he pulled out of her on the way — and the mess of her in the aftermath, wild haired and still fully dressed, abruptly makes him recall her casual acceptance of another man, a man who wasn’t _him,_ eating up the vision of her with their gaze; makes him simmer with something terrible and hot. He hoists her up the stairs and strips her down in the middle of his room where he can take her properly.

He doesn’t want to just fuck her. He wants to _claim_ her, and he wants her to _see_ ; to hear her _admit_ that she is his.

“I bet you thought I was done with you,” he tells her as he peels back her gown. “I’m not.” 

Katara doesn’t speak — she only sighs at his feather-light touch, her lashes casting long shadows across her cheeks in the recessed lighting of his bedroom. He circles her slowly, stops behind her so that he can sweep her hair aside and lower his mouth to the spot of purpling red she’d pretended to hide. 

“Mad?” He murmurs, pointedly scraping his teeth against the mark; just as he lets her dress hit the floor. 

“Was,” Katara admits. 

A low groan rumbles out of him when he flicks his gaze up to catch the reflection of her, beautiful against him in the wall of mirror making up his closet doors. Her breasts rise with the heavy gasp she takes at the sharp nip he gives, and her fuck-me stilettos glean invitingly in the lowlight. 

She is wearing nothing under her bright red fishnets, this he already knew, yet the sight provokes him no less. 

Seeing her nearly naked — in the shroud of his still fully suited frame, with the faintest line of his cum drying down her thigh and staining at her stockings — unhinges that predatory intent he had managed to squash in his search for her on the mausoleum floor, and he lets it wash over him in tandem with the crescendoing starburst of possession he feels stirring behind his sternum.

_Mine._

With a growl Zuko fits one hand to her hip and rakes the other up through her mahogany locks, just so that he can hold fast and sharply crane her head to the side.

A mewl drops out of Katara’s mouth, inflaming him with the base desire to bury his aching cock in her so that he can hear every other pleasure inducing sound he knows she will give him.

“Where do you belong, Katara?”

Zuko asks the question softly as he presses himself roughly against her back. Katara sucks in a sharp breath, and he meets her hooded blue gaze in the mirror, daring her to answer him wrong.

“You’re a smart little girl,” he tells her between even softer kisses up her neck and the tightening of his fist in her hair. “Now answer the question.”

He watches her reflection swallow and huffs out a breath, forcing away the vivid mental entertainment of sliding his cock down her throat. “Here,” she finally says, barely a whisper and not nearly as accurate as he cares for. Quick as lightning, Zuko snakes the hand on her hip up between the valley of her breasts and curls his fingers firmly around her neck.

 _“Answer,”_ he growls impatiently, no longer watching her in the mirror, _“the question.”_

“H-Here!” Katara’s chest heaves, and the warmth of her seeps through the layers of his suit. “Here, with you.”

Zuko noses the spot under her ear. _“Say it.”_

“Right here,” Katara whispers shakily, “riding your cock until I’m well and full of you.”

“That’s what I was looking for,” Zuko coos the praise. Katara shivers in his steady hold, and he lets his hands fall away from her so that he can take a step back. “Bed.” He commands, starting on his cufflinks. “Now.”

His gaze follows her measured movement in the expanse of his mirror, and a primal sense of pride swells in him as she crawls over the edge of his bed. Zuko shucks his blazer and crooks one finger into the knot of his tie as to untuck it from his vest, eyes glued to the red-trimmed curve of that perfect, perfect ass — but then Katara looks over her shoulder at him, sways her hips in a movement meant to tease or retaliate, and the last of his patience begins hastily slipping away.

Zuko spins on his heel. The sharp _smack_ of his palm meeting the back of her thigh echoes throughout the room. Katara whines, high, loud, and long.

_“Please.”_

Zuko’s eyes fall shut as white-hot need scatters through him. Agni, Agni, Agni, what is he going to do with her?

“ _More_ , Zuko.” The wanton utterance of his name is what makes him look up, but it’s the _“please, sir,”_ that makes him undo his tie so fast that it stings his skin as it hisses between his fingers.

He supposes he will do as she begs, since she begs him so nicely.

Zuko pops her roughly seven times, lining up his hand for one of each successful piece of clothing he divests onto the floor, and then again in rapid succession because the little vixen asks him for it.

“Come here,” he demands, now naked; now satisfied with the hitch of her breath and the interrupted shape of his palm smarting in bright red on her rear. He prowls to the foot of the bed. Katara slides forward, dropping from all fours to just her knees in a pretty bow that makes his blood sing. She is perfect, so perfect, with her hair pooling across his sheets and her wrists held together, waiting to be tied. 

A smile, kittenish and cute, crinkles her wet eyes into sparkling crescents. He notes her eager obedience with delayed bemusement; she always laughs at him silently, as if she is indulging him.

 _Little does she know_ , he thinks as he moves to draw behind her and sit back on his knees; so that he can carefully loop the cloth in a loose double knot around her throat and wrap the other end around two fingers.

Zuko leaves her on her elbows and slides her fishnets to pool over the ankles of her boots, then off; spreads her thighs around him and curls one arm around her hips so that he can hold her aloft at his whim, the occupied other pressed in a light fist at the small of her inked back to encourage her arc. 

“Zuko,” Katara squirms, and he growls in anticipation at the pleas that are sure to follow next. “please touch me.”

He blows a cool stream of air over her core, weak for the word, and drags the tip of his tongue slowly across her folds.

_Z._

Katara lets out a wanting sigh; _yes, La_. Zuko holds a steady rumble in his chest, dips his tongue deep into her center when he reaches _O_.

 _“Zuko,”_ Katara mewls on the upstroke of his _R_ over her clit. The sound of his name goes straight to his cock. He tugs just enough on the tie with a firm hand and gives a single languid suck to the sensitive bundle of nerves as a reward for her breathless, needy little gasp.

“That’s right, Kitten.” He leans back to gently scrape his teeth over the end of her slit. _“Me_ , and no one else.”

She is trembling by the time he completes his claim, sitting up on her palms and begging for more as he laves off into a steady, sure rhythm of licks at the entrance of her fluttering walls.

Just as he registers the near-edge tell of her breath quickening she cries out his favorite plea of all.

 _“Fuck_ me, Zuko, please _Zuko please.”_

A rain of pleasured pinpricks travel down the center of his back when he rears backward to tug at the tie wrapped in his hand, and his loins tighten at how easily she follows the movement so that she is practically in his lap, her back nearing flush to his front.

Zuko opts for running the tip of his swollen cock through the beautifully wet mess that is her pussy instead of wiping his chin, and he wounds the last length of his tie around his palm until he can card his fingers through her hair and _pull_.

“Beg me again,” he demands with a grunt, and in the same second that her airy _please fuck me, sir_ reaches his ears he angles her head to face the mirror and sinks himself into her clenching core with a single swift thrust. 

_“Mn — oh.”_ Katara undulates her hips with a deep gasp. “Move, please, move — _move_ , I wanna see.”

Zuko watches her profile with predatory intent as he drags his cock slowly from her walls; before roughly fucking his hips forward. Her mouth falls open, and the tightness in his balls greatens at the rapid flutter of her lashes. He wants to see, too.

He cuts his gaze to meet hers in the wall of mirror; to catch the entirety of her reaction to him drilling his cock into her with deliberately sinuous snaps of his hips against her prettily blushing ass.

“M _mm_ - _hm_.” Katara hums out a litany of crescendoing mewls, each sounding off with the steady slap of skin connecting with skin. “Yes, yes, ye- _ah — hm!”_

 _“Fuck,”_ Zuko curses, the grip of her wet heat breaking him down. “so _perfect_ for me, Kat. Perfect and wet and _mine_ , all mine.”

_“Yes, sir.”_

Zuko sinks his teeth along her shoulder, slides his hand up to cup the face of a breast so that he can tweak a nipple between his knuckles and simply enjoy the weight of her flesh at once. He reaffirms his grip in his hair as she unravels around him, and he shifts his weight to grace against her sweet spot, coaxing her pleasure towards peak as his vision blurs.

“Zuko,” yeah. “Zuko!” Yeah. _“Zuko!”_ _Yeah,_ she is going to cum and fuck, _fuck._ Fuck _,_ so is he.

“Where, Katara.” He growls out the question. “Where do you belong?”

“With you,” she gasps. He releases her breast in favor of rolling his thumb over her swollen clit. She moans wildly, but Zuko still growls and tugs pointedly at the tie for her lack of answer. “Here, with you! With you, Zuko. With you. _Full_ of you. I—”

“You’re mine,” he finishes for her, giving over to the needy stutter that his thrusts falter into. Spirits fuck, she gets him so _heated_. “Kat,” he rumbles. “ _say_ it.”

“ _Yours_ , Zuko. _Please.”_

_“Gods,”_ Zuko groans as his orgasm finally rips out of him. He pumps into Katara with long, breathtaking spurts of realease, but he does not stop the halting fuck of his hips or his fingers over her clit. 

With practiced ease, Zuko etches out his name. _“Who’s?”_ he demands, counting the seconds between her shivers; because he won’t be satisfied until she is. “Tell me.” Katara lets out the start of a sob. “Are you mine, Katara?” 

Her walls clench tightly around him. With a guttural, high cry of _sir, yes, sir_ Katara jerks and bows. Zuko hums lowly in over-sensitive pleasure as he deftly drops his hand from her hair to let his tie unravel from around his palm. His hum morphs into a loud grunt as Katara’s hips buck back, unbiddenly fucking herself on his still hard cock.

“That’s it, Kat,” he whispers into her messily curling hair. He wraps his arms securely around her shoulders and waist in order to keep her safely against him, cooing quietly as she rides out her aftershocks. “so, so good.”

Zuko slides his length from between her legs with a soft moan, and Katara is a sighing, sated, whiny puddle of submission by the time he brings her water. Zuko lays her back against his dark satin sheets and carefully works the double knot from the tie still in place around her neck as she sips. Her eyes are hazy and hooded as she tracks his movement down to her boots, which he reverently slips from her socked feet.

Zuko plucks the glass from her fingers and praises her with soft, proud words, mindful of her drop, when she sluggishly melds herself against him under the sheets. “Attagirl,” he murmurs affectionately, settling her in his hold. “You with me, princess?”

“ _Yessir,”_ Katara slurs happily, eyes falling shut and nose buried against his collar. “with you n’ all yours.”

Zuko traces the outline of the reddened bruise that is now spreading in splotches up the slope of her neck in silent, disbelieving awe.

 _Good girl,_ he tells her as she sleeps.

**Author's Note:**

> oh, and: _vimaan_ is hindi for ‘plane’, because i obviously think i’m funny.
> 
> edit: i think i got all the typos? idk i been awake for too long all the words look the same *^*


End file.
